Of Wolves and Winter
by Entwinedlove
Summary: A collection of one-shots and drabbles set in the Game of Thrones universe.
1. Wolf Song

**Wolf Song**

_"You've changed, Little Bird," Sandor said._

_"I couldn't stay a little bird forever."_

_"What are you now?"_

_A secretive smile stole across her lips. He'd tauntingly asked her for a song once; maybe he would find the howling of a she-wolf more pleasing than the chirping of a little bird._

Pairing: Sansa/Sandor  
Rating: general  
Warnings: UST  
Tropes: Romance, Canon Divergence  
Words: 1,082  
Original Release Date: 10 Aug 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for heeroluva on AO3 for the HetSwap 2019 Exchange!

* * *

"She could have made you happy," Sansa said softly, sitting in the empty bench across from the Hound, "for a little while." She glanced across the hall to see the girl she was talking about being propositioned by Brienne's squire, Podric. He already had one girl under his arm.

"There's only one thing what would make me happy," Clegane said, turning his face away from her. His lips were set into such a deep frown, that on a child, Sansa would have called it a pout.

Around them, the merriment of relief that the Army of the Dead was defeated and that there was an abundance of wine continued. "And what's that?"

She marvelled at how quick his temper rose to the surface. She'd forgotten that about him. He looked her in the eyes, not bothering to let his hair hang over his scars to hide them from her. "That's my fucking business," he snapped.

She had to focus on not smiling. Her humour at his familiar irritability would only ruin what she had planned. "I was in the Vale when I heard that someone had finally killed your brother." Another cheer went up from the other side of the room. "You should have heard the toasts to the doer of the deed in the hall. Your brother tormented a lot of people."

His gaze slipped from hers to the table and if anything his frown intensified. "It wasn't me."

"They didn't know that at the time. We didn't learn the whole of it until news from a more reliable source flew in. Everyone knew of the animosity between you and just assumed that only the Hound could have bested the Mountain."

He scoffed and looked back up at her, almost daring her to look away.

She didn't. Instead, she made it a point to look at every part of his horribly scarred face. His hair was cleaner than she remembered seeing it in King's Landing, and he'd grown a thick beard that emphasized the fullness of his lips. There was a red mark under his left eye where he'd been wounded in the recent battle. His brown eyes were clear, free of the haze of drink. It seems he hadn't started overinduldging in the wine yet.

"Used to be you couldn't look at me."

"That was a long time ago. I've seen much worse than you since then." She was referring to the hundreds of thousands of corpses that littered the whole of Winterfell. What were a few scars on a living, breathing man compared to the shocking face of decomposing, animated death?

Unfortunately, Clegane took her words a different way. "Yes, I've heard." He leaned forward in his seat a little as he spoke again. "Heard you were broken in." If she wasn't mistaken, there seemed to be a note of sympathy to his voice. "Heard you were broken in rough." Instead of the words being a taunt like they might have been years ago in King's Landing, they sounded like an apology.

She clenched her fists to stave off the trembling reminders of her treatment at Ramsey's hands brought on. "He got what he deserved," she said, though her voice had gone slightly scratchy from emotion. "I gave it to him."

"How?"

"Hounds."

And he laughed. A breathy chuckle escaped him, and a true smile curled his lips. She couldn't help but smile in the light of that.

He raised his goblet, but before he took a sip, he said, "You've changed, Little Bird."

Her smile faded away. The pet name reminded her strongly of the scared little girl she had been and of the things he'd said to frighten her. She listened as he swallowed, and let her gaze drop down to study the subtle design on his gambeson.

"I couldn't stay a little bird forever," she said. He set his goblet on the table, and she raised her gaze to meet his again.

"And what are you now?" he asked.

She only let her lips curl up at the corners again. "I seem to remember you wanted something from me years ago."

He didn't seem to mind the shift of the conversation. Or maybe he just wasn't sure what one had to do with the other. His unburnt eyebrow pulled down as confusion wrote itself across his face. "What's that?"

"You wanted me to sing you a song." She let her gaze focus again on his plump lips and she licked her own, both in slight nervousness and anticipation. She'd never truly gone after what she wanted, but the Long Night had been averted, and they were both alive. If she didn't do it now, she may lose the opportunity. She glanced towards the corridor that led up the stairs to the bedrooms of the castle then looked back at him. "I have a song for you now if you're interested in hearing it."

She stood and gestured with a tip of her head, hoping he understood it to mean follow. He sat there for a second too long, confusion still evident in his dark eyes. Perhaps she'd been too subtle. She lingered in front of him for a moment before turning and leaving the hall. She paused there too, to look back at the table. Sandor was still sitting there. She sighed. That would be the end of it. Her hints hadn't been bold enough for him.

But then he stood. He tipped his goblet up, drained the last of his wine, and set the cup down decisively.

Sansa grinned to herself and headed towards her rooms. The further she got away from the merriment in the hall, the more she could hear the steady pace of heavy footsteps behind her. He caught up with her at her door and barged in the room with her, taking her elbow in hand and turning her around to bracket her against the door with his body.

"What are you playing at?" he asked in a hushed growl.

She raised her chin. "I'm not playing at anything. I want something... something I think you want too." She licked her lips again. "Or did you not intend to join me in my rooms?"

He took a small step back and looked away from her. He shook his head. "I'd hurt you, Little Bird."

She nodded and enjoyed the moment of disappointment that flashed in his eyes. "You would hurt a little bird... but you're not going to hurt a wolf."


	2. Her Queen

**Her Queen**

_The Targaryen Queen's eyes shone golden and dragonlike in the firelight. "You will be my consort."_

_Perhaps it wasn't only Stark men who shouldn't venture south._

Pairing: Daenerys/Sansa - pre-relationship  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Canon Divergence  
Words: 4,091  
Original Release Date: 9 Aug 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for starforged on AO3 for the Rare Pairs 2019 Exchange!

* * *

_Thank the old gods and the new_, Sansa thought, _he's learned something_. They were in her room rather than the great hall in front of everyone. Jon was clutching two raven-sent missives in his fist. One was from his loyal friend Samwell at the Citadel, claiming that there was a mountain of dragonglass under Dragonstone which would be needed to fight the army of the dead. The other, a summons. Tyrion was now the Hand of the Targaryen woman who called herself queen. Daenerys.

"It's a good idea!" Jon argued.

Sansa glanced away to hide the fact that she rolled her eyes. She stood to be more level with him. "It's a stupid idea. Our grandfather was summoned south by a Targaryen and roasted alive for it."

"We need their help. We can't fight this war alone," he said. His hands remained at his sides but she could see how he minutely tightened and relaxed his grip on the parchment. "Daenerys calls herself a queen, only a king would be able to convince her to help us."

"Then send an emissary," Sansa said and, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue, she added, "Send me if you have to."

Her words pulled Jon up short, and he stopped to pierce her with a look. "I can't send you south again. I won't put you through that."

"I've survived the South before. I'll do it again."

He shook his head. "You're the last Stark, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"There will be," she reassured him even though her skin was crawling with the thought of leaving her home again. "You'll be here. The King in the North, whose name is Stark."

She could see him weighing the options; his shoulders seemed bowed with the heft of ruling and making these sort of decisions. Finally, he looked away from her and nodded. "You'll take Ser Davos and Lady Brienne with you."

* . * . *

The ride to White Harbor was pleasant enough but the passage by ship from there to Dragonstone was uncomfortable. Sansa kept her thoughts to herself, as complaining about it wouldn't do any good anyway.

From the ship at anchor to the jolly-boat to the shore, the fortress of Dragonstone grew larger and more menacing as they grew closer. The sharp angles of its black walls pierced the sky. However, despite the dark intimidating nature of the castle, it didn't instil fear in Sansa like the golden towers of King's Landing had the last time she'd laid eyes on them.

Tyrion was on the shore to welcome their party. There were also barbarous looing men with vicious-looking steel hanging from their belts. She felt calling the curved weapons swords was probably incorrect. They wore horse leathers and only a bit of fur; their arms were bare even in the cool winter clime of the south. _Dothraki horse lords._

"Lady Sansa," Tyrion said. "It's been a long time." The scar that he'd gained at the Battle of Blackwater Bay had faded some, more of it was covered by a thick beard. Both his beard and previously golden hair had darkened. As a particular cool gust of sea air rushed over the back of her neck, she wondered idly if his air darkened like that every winter.

"Lord Tyrion," she greeted. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, no doubt categorizing the differences he saw in her since their last meeting. He then made introductions with Lady Brienne, Ser Davos, and Missandei, the woman standing at his left wearing a short skirt and trousers. Her hair was dark as well, and it haloed around her face.

"Welcome to Dragonstone," Missandei said. "Our Queen knows this is a long journey, and she appreciates the efforts you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons?"

Sansa glanced over at Brienne; she was frowning, but after a moment, started removing her sword belt. Sansa could hear the oarsmen behind them start removing their weapons as well. The horsemen walked forward and took the swords from them. The creaking of the jolly-boat caught her attention and she turned enough to watch as the horsemen hoisted it up and walked off with it. She steadied her breathing; taking away their only means of departure felt like a bad omen, even more so than taking away their weapons. She'd been in court, disallowing weapons in the presence of the King or Queen was normal.

Missandei said, "Please, this way," and started back up the beach.

The beach gave way to steps and then a stone walkway, so narrow that only two people could walk abreast at a time. Tyrion fell into step beside her. He looked up at her and a smile quirked his lips before he said, "I had expected to see Jon Snow here, as I did send the invitation to him. Not that I'm unhappy at seeing you again."

"He had wanted to come himself," she confessed. The gentle sloping incline changed to steps for a section of walkway, then smoothed out again. "I told him he was stupid."

Tyrion let out an amused scoff. "I suppose if I were his Hand, I would have advised the same thing. As a general rule, Stark men don't fare well when they travel south." He slowed in his gait to look up at her.

"Yes... but I'm not a man."

He made a face of noted agreement.

There was an ear-piercing animal screech above them; warm air blasted over them. Sansa knew what it must be and tried not to cower, though she was hindered from her intention when Lady Brienne pulled her down to try and shield her with her body. Sansa shifted and stood, she wanted to see.

Flying away was the most enormous beast Sansa had ever laid eyes on. She'd once seen the skulls of the dragons in the tunnels of King's Landing. Only that of Balerion the Black Dread seemed bigger than the creature in the sky. It bellowed again, and this time, it's siblings answered it, one farther off in front of them and another to the left.

"Did they come from hunting in the sea?" Sansa asked. She thought it was a stupid question as soon as it left her mouth, but she was enraptured with curiosity about the mysterious beasts.

"Possibly. Though I think they like sheep and goats more than marine life," Tyrion answered.

For a moment, Sansa had forgotten he was there, so overwhelmed by the presence of the dragons above them. She hadn't even expected an answer, though she smiled at him and thanked him for it all the same.

* . * . *

The hall was empty aside from what amounted to an enormous throne made of jagged rock. It looked just an impressive as the iron throne and just as uncomfortable. There were few windows and the room was cast in heavy shadows because no candles were lit.

Two Dothraki stood on either side of the large dais and Tyrion took his place to the right of the throne, though not nearly close enough to share advice as Sansa had seen Tywin do. Missandei stood a similar distance away from the throne on the left. As she began to speak, Sansa let her gaze settle on the figure on the throne.

"...Stormborn of House Targaryen..."

The Queen had hair so pale as to be white, some of which hung down to her waist but much of which was up in elaborate braids that were neither Northern or Southron in design.

"... Queen of the Andals and the First Men..."

Her skin was as pale as Sansa's, though with a hint of rosiness at her cheeks that spoke to the chill in the hall.

"... Mother of Dragons..."

Even at the distance Sansa stood from the woman, she could see how pale her eyes were. They did not frighten her as she had thought they would when she'd learned about the lilac eyes of the Targaryens as a child, but fascinated her. She did not look mad—though Sansa knew looks had nothing to do with it—she had thought Cersei was the pinnacle of beauty for a time.

"...the Unburnt..."

She wore black with a hint of red at her shoulders and in her cape, reminding Sansa of the embers of a dying fire. Like her advisor, her skirt was shorter than normal and she wore trousers beneath it. Her clothes weren't decorated with embroidery or fanciful details, though she wore a sash of silver chains with the head of a dragon at her right shoulder.

"...the Breaker of Chains."

Daenerys Targaryen was beautiful but not as ethereal or mysterious as her monikers made her sound. She was a woman, like any other. Still, Sansa knew not to underestimate her.

There was an awkward moment before Sansa glanced at Davos, a step behind her. "This is Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell," he finally said. After another pause, he added, "Emissary to the King in the North."

"Thank you for traveling so far. I hope the seas weren't too rough," Daenerys said.

Sansa nodded. "The winds were kind, Your Grace." Despite feeling like the sea travel had been miserable, she knew it could have been worse.

"I believe the invitation was sent to Jon Snow, though I suppose it doesn't matter," the Queen said, "so long as you're here to bend the knee."

Direct, with little in the way of couched pleasantries. Sansa liked that. She steeled her spine anyway. "I am not. I don't have that power nor would I choose to do so if I did."

"Oh." She looked surprised. "That is unfortunate. You came all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?"

"House Targaryen broke faith with House Stark when your brother kidnapped and raped my aunt; when your father burned my grandfather alive. My uncle as well." Sansa could see the other woman's jaw tighten. "Those aren't the reasons I won't kneel before you," she went on. There was anger brewing in the Queen's lavender eyes, now. "The Northmen chose Jon as their king. They refuse to be ruled by a Southron king or queen any longer. A Southron ruler who doesn't understand or care about our customs, our traditions, our beliefs."

"Then why are you here?"

"To bargain. Because we need your help, and you need ours."

The Queen looked at Tyrion briefly before addressing Sansa again. "Did you see three dragons outside?"

"Yes," Sansa answered.

"Have you seen the Dothraki? Every one of whom has sworn to kill for me?"

Sansa let her gaze slide from the Queen to the horse lord nearest her. "They're hard to miss."

"Then why would I need your help?"

"Not to defeat Cersei. To defeat the enemy to the north." Sansa said, keeping her chin up and looking the Queen in the eyes.

Daenerys gripped the arms of her throne with both hands. Anger and irritation were clear on her face. "The North is in open rebellion. As far as I'm concerned _you_ are the enemy to the north."

"Beyond the Wall, the Army of the Dead marches south."

"The Army of the Dead?" Daenerys said, her obvious disbelief coloring her words.

"The Others—"

"Myths. Stories to scare children in their beds—"

"White Walkers are real, Your Grace," Sansa interrupted. "And it's not just one or two people addled by the cold saying so. Jon has seen them, the remaining men of the Night's Watch have fought them, the hundreds of Wildlings at Winterfell have fled from them. When the Others and their army breach the Wall, we don't have the numbers or the weapons to fight them."

"That sounds like it would take care of my problem with the rebelling North," Daenerys said, a cruel smile curling her lips.

"When we fall," Sansa continued, pretending to ignore the Queen's barb, "we will swell their ranks and the South will have an even larger army to deal with. Do you suppose Cersei is likely to join you in fighting the dead after we're gone? She's a monster... She would let everyone under her rule be slaughtered if she thought it would save her own skin and allow her to keep the throne." Sansa wet her lips, calming herself before adding, "And it wouldn't just be the fighting men swelling the ranks of the dead. Women, the old and infirm, and children would be swallowed up by the approaching army. I spoke with one Wildling woman who watched the leader of her tribe be overtaken by child wights."

In the quiet that seemed to ring in the throne room, Sansa watched the Queen and Tyrion as they shared another look. He still didn't move close enough to actually advise her.

"Weapons too? Can your blacksmith not forge enough?" Daenerys taunted.

"Standard steel won't stop a wight or White Walker, but we have several first-hand accounts that says Valyrian steel or dragonglass can. So we need dragonglass. A maester at the citadel told us that Dragonstone has mines full of it."

"I'm failing to see how letting you mine this _dragonglass_ would provide any benefit to me. Why should I help you if you won't bow and pledge fealty to me? What do I get in exchange? Or are you unfamiliar with how to bargain in the North?"

And then it was time for Sansa's plan to hopefully slot into place. It was something that Jon wouldn't have been comfortable offering, he wouldn't have agreed to it had she mentioned it. Yet as things stood, this was the only real bargaining chip she could see the North laying on the table. "You get me."

Behind her, Brienne sucked in a shocked breath. Tyrion's eyebrows raised and his eyes widened at the notion of Sansa bartering herself.

"As Lady of Winterfell, any husband I take will have the ear of the King in the North. Through him, you'll have a stake in the way the North is run." What she offered bordered on treasonous to Jon and to the North but only if she let it. If she could control the man—who would almost have to be from a lesser House than hers, or at least a second or third-born son—she could play at being the puppet when in reality she'd be the master.

The Queen did not speak for a moment, only bore those piercing pale eyes into Sansa's, as if she could find the bluff or the trick.

Varys appeared from the shadows behind Tyrion and stepped up to the dais to whisper in the Queen's ear. The tension that had strained the muscles in her neck eased. "You must forgive my manners," she said as if brushing away the entire conversation. "You will all be tired after your long journey. We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms." She shifted and spoke in a foreign tongue to the Dothraki on her left, then stood and started to walk from the room through a side door.

"Are we your prisoners?" Sansa asked. She held her back as straight as a sword and could have sworn she tasted steel in her mouth.

Daenerys looked over her shoulder at Sansa and her companions. "Not yet."

* . * . *

Sansa was not surprised to find Tyrion as a late-night-visitor to her rooms. "What were you thinking?" he all but hissed at her after he'd poured himself a drink. He frowned at the taste of the watered wine but did not comment on it. "Why, after everything, would you barter yourself for marriage again?"

"It's the only thing that I had to bargain with, Tyrion," she said. She laced her fingers together in her lap. "If she's as smart as you believe her to be, she'll take the offer. A husband will have influence over any children Jon or I may have, and with careful maneuvering after two or three generations, her descendants could have a puppet king in Winterfell. One that is fully loyal to the Southron throne. They may even repledge the North to the Targyarens on the Iron Throne."

Tyrion's eyebrows pulled together in worry. "The Great Houses that backed her—the Tyrells, the Greyjoys, the Martells—are all in ruins. She has no husband to arrange for you. All she has is an army of eunuchs and Dothraki. And the Dothraki are known for their brutality of women." Concern seemed to glisten in his eyes; she dismissed it as flickering candlelight. "That can't be what you intended. Recant. Bend the knee. As Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North, you have that power."

Sansa said nothing for a long moment. She didn't plan for a foreign husband and did have legitimate worries that she wouldn't be able to sway him from his loyalty to Daenerys. It didn't matter. The fire crackled in the hearth beside them and drew her gaze. She would not back down. She would not kneel. "Goodnight, Tyrion. I appreciate your counsel."

He heaved a sigh and frowned. "You've changed," he said, without getting up.

She snapped her gaze back to him but didn't raise her voice when she asked, "Did you expect a little girl who stilled wrung her hands and cried in fear?"

"No. I suppose I didn't."

"Goodnight, my Lord."

* . * . *

Sansa's room had a window but it was small and didn't allow much light or air in, so the following morning she took a walk. It led her back to the walkway that led to the shore where she could see the ship that brought them here at anchor. Unreachable.

Daenerys was standing on the walkway, looking out to sea. Watching the dragons as they swooped and dipped around the sky. It almost looked as if they were playing.

Sansa approached and stood at her left. "They're magnificent."

The Queen looked at Sansa as if trying to determine if Sansa believed the words she'd said. "Yes, they are."

Sansa let her gaze follow the two smaller dragons as they flew into the clouds and disappeared. "Our Old Nan used to tell us stories. Some were the scary stories that my brothers and sister loved, about the Others and dragons. The ones _I_ loved were about princes and good-hearted knights, flowers and romance." She looked down at her hands where she had set them on the stone, waist-high wall in front of her. She'd learned to keep from wringing them and now they were as steady as when she worked on her sewing, even when she thought about the horrible things that had happened to her. "I prefer the ones about dragons now."

She could feel the sharp violet gaze of the Queen watching her. After a long moment, she too looked back out to the sea and sky. The roar of one of the dragons was distant and soft. The others called back to it. Like wolves hunting. "I'll allow your men to mine the dragonglass and forge weapons from it. Any resources or men you need, I will provide them for you."

Sansa looked at her, waiting for the demands that she was sure would follow.

"I haven't yet made a decision on your offer. Committing my forces to a kingdom in open rebellion for a legend and the word of a traitor hundreds of miles away in exchange for a single political marriage doesn't strike me as in my best interests."

Despite knowing better, the words rankled, and anger colored Sansa's tone. "My brother is not a traitor."

"He declared himself king of a kingdom that belongs to the Iron Throne. And the Iron Throne is mine."

Sansa thought of all the ways she would have responded to that had Joffery said it and then dismissed all of them. "Jon didn't declare himself king of anything. The people of the North chose him as their ruler."

Daenerys's lips pressed together tightly and she said nothing more, turning once again to look out to the sea. Sansa decided to walk further out; she recognized the silence for the dismissal it was.

Later that evening, as the sunset lit the sky to the west like it was on fire, Lady Brienne came to see her. "You should see the dragonglass cave before we start hacking away at it."

They walked down to the beach at a brisk pace, meeting Queen Daenerys and Missandei taking the evening air and chatting. Sansa recognized the conspiratorial smile that meant gossip about men on their faces before the two groups addressed one another.

"Your Grace," Brienne greeted. "I thought you might like to see the cave of dragonglass before the men start working."

Daenerys nodded and turned to her guards and told them to stay in the foreign tongue they understood. The four of them walked across the sand in companionable silence. Ser Davos was at the entrance to the cave with a torch and passed it to Brienne who led the way inside.

The mouth of the cave was large but narrowed quickly. Brienne had to duck and crouch as they slipped further inside. When the cave opened up again, the walls glimmered in the torchlight. The obsidian of the walls was cut at angles, similar to the throne in the hall.

"It's beautiful," Daenerys whispered.

Brienne handed the torch to Sansa and directed her with a nod further into the cave. The Queen followed. The passage was even more narrow than before and it opened into a smaller cavern. Holding the torch high illuminated the carvings on the walls. Spirals, circles. The leaves of a weirwood tree.

"The Children of the Forest made these," Sansa said, reaching out and letting her finger trace the groove of one of the circles on the wall. The designs rang familiar for some reason and it was only with another moment's thought that she knew where she recognized them from. The weirwood in Winterfell. She'd been a child, playing hide and seek, and slipped into the Godswood. She'd tripped and fallen on one of the roots of the great tree. When she paused to examine what had caught her shoe, she noticed the spirals carved lightly into the wood. They had given her an uneasy feeling for a long time, so long that she had learned to avoid the Godswood. That's when she'd started listening to her mother talk about the New Gods.

Daenerys took the torch from her and walked further into one nook. "Another legend proven true. They were here. Standing where we're standing. Before there were Targaryens, or Starks, or Lannisters." She gestured with the torch to one carving in particular. Small people, larger people with knives. "What were they doing? Fighting with the First Men?"

"No, Your Grace," Sansa said. Larger than any of the other carvings, only briefly lit by the flickering torch the Queen was holding, was a carving that chilled Sansa to the bone despite the warm air hanging in the cave. Emaciated figures, nothing like the people on the other wall, more like walking bones, stood with spears. Their eyes were painted a brilliant blue. One in the front, the leader, had a crown. "They were fighting together. Against the Others."

Daenerys stepped closer allowing the light to further reveal haunting details. Bodies, broken at the feet of the Others.

Staring at the blue eyes of the carving made Sansa tremble. She dismissed it as a response to the cold, even though she knew the cold sea breeze didn't penetrate this far into the cave. She turned away, ready to leave, but the Queen stopped her.

"I'll fight for you. I'll fight for the North, but I will not select a husband for you. I've been sold like a broodmare; I refuse to do it to someone else." Sansa turned to look at her. The Targaryen Queen's eyes shone golden and dragonlike in the firelight. "You'll stay here with me and be my consort. And when I meet Jon Snow, he will kneel and pledge House Stark and the North to House Targaryen."

"He won't—"

"You will convince him." The implication that she would leave them all to perish in the hands of the Others was clear. Daenerys turned and started out of the cavern, taking the light with her. As the darkness crept over the drawings on the walls, the blue of the Others eyes seem to glow. Sansa followed behind the Queen.

Her Queen.

Perhaps it wasn't only Stark men who shouldn't venture south.


	3. One of the Free Folk

**One of the Free Folk**

_Sansa has a visitor._

* * *

Pairing: Sansa Stark & Original Female Character, Jon Snow/Original Female Character (off screen)  
Rating: general  
Warnings:  
Tropes: Family Gossip  
Words: 367  
Original Release Date: 30 May 2020  
This was a pitch hit for CorinaLannister for the Original Character and Original Works Flash Exchange.

* * *

Tired from her busy day, Sansa wished to spend her free time sitting in the Godswood. She had a few things on her mind that she thought she could talk over with Bran, though they may be better said in a letter instead.

When she reached the Weirwood tree, with its stark white bark and blood-red leaves, she realized she was not alone at the reflecting pool. A young woman, possibly sixteen or seventeen was sitting by the water looking at the face in the Weirwood with something like awe. Her hair glowed a golden red in the evening sun and she wore the grey and black furs of a Wildling.

The woman turned around and startled upon seeing Sansa. She stood hastily and said, "My apologies, Your Grace."

Sansa held out her hand to calm the woman. "Has my brother come south for a visit, then?" She walked closer and gestured at the ground. The girl retook her seat and Sansa settled near her, underneath the heavy branches of the heart tree.

"Yes, Your Grace, he's come to Castle Black to meet with you." A soft smile replaced her anxious expression. "I think he wants to show off his youngest daughter."

Sansa grinned, thinking back to the last time she'd seen Jon and his children. "Another one?"

"Yes. He's named her Breonna. She's a hearty little one. Could hear her first cries almost all over camp."

"And what's your name?" Sansa asked though she suspected she knew.

"I'm sorry, my lady—I mean, Your Grace—I didn't mean to forget—I'm Enith."

Sansa's smile grew wider with the recognition. "Right, Tormund's youngest."

"Yes, Your Grace," Enith said, nodding quickly.

"You've grown a lot since I saw you last. Are you hungry? Let's go inside and have some lemon cakes and you can tell me what everyone's been up to the last few years."

Enith stood again, and Sansa could see now how tall the girl was. "Yes, Your Grace."

Sansa stood as well and brushed any dirt from the back of her skirt. "Enough of that, we're practically family. Call me Sansa in private."

Enith smiled and nodded again, "Yes, Your—I mean—yes, Lady Sansa."


End file.
